The Lights In The Sky
by Crowhop
Summary: The time before---when Nights was loyal, when Reala was open-minded, when Jackle was stable. When truth was never seen.
1. Day Of Nightmares: The Crows Leave

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I will tell you all we have learned,

I will tell you everything:

The earth is round,

There are springs under the orchards,

The loam cuts with a blunt knife,

Beware of

Elms in thunder,

The lights in the sky are stars…

_Epistle To Be Left In The Earth_

Archibald Macleish

~AN~: Before you start reading, you should know: I know where this is going, and it's a long way from here. Loose ends and confusing parts will most likely be the norm, because they'll all be referring to later-on occurrences. I know where the characters will be by the end, but I don't know what's going to happen, or who's going to die. I don't know what horrible disasters are going to occur, or what wonderful experiences will be encountered, or whether or not the wet noodle incident will ever be examined more fully. But hey, that's how J. R. R. Tolkien wrote---and look where he went. I can write however I want to, right?

That said, I should also mention the rating for this story. I labeled it PG-13 because, as I told you, I don't know where this thing's going. I guarantee you right here and now that the rating will not be referring to swearing, sexual content, or any sort of thing pertaining to that type of stuff; you won't find that in my writing, thank you very much. If anything, it will be there for violence, of which there may be some in this story, I don't know. It depends on what happens. 

One more thing before I shut up. To put it simply, two words: RE-VEIW! Tell me what you'd like to see. Tell me where you want me to go. Tell me who should get more screen time. Tell me who should be killed off, and preferably quickly. Tell me what I did wrong. Criticize. Flame. Do anything. Just review.

And for those that reviewed my first little story, here's a resounding YOU ROCK!! If it hadn't been for those reviews, I may not have posted this at all, thinking that no one would read it anyway. Thanks, guys! Reviews are an author's ice cream, you know---they make the pie of writing all the more enjoyable.

…okay, so that was stupid. I'm a writer, not a philosopher, you know? Of course you do. Thanks again, and enjoy. The pieces of poetry are all excerpts from the above-mentioned poem, Epistle To Be Left In The Earth, by Archibald Macleish. Have you hugged your rubber chicken today?

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

~Lights In The Sky~

…It is colder now,

there are many stars,

we are drifting

North by the Great bear, 

the leaves are falling,

The water is stone in the scooped rocks,

to southward

Red sun grey air:

the crows are

Slow on their crooked wings,

the jays have left us:

Long since we passed the flares of Orion…

Day Of Nightmares: 

The Crows Leave

Hm. Forest, or neon?

Forest. Neon.

Neon. Forest.

Dark. Light.

Light. Dark.

Strong. Cheery.

Cheery. Strong.

Boy. Gi--what?!

Forest. Definitely. No way was he going to be mistaken for a girl. 

Satisfied, the nightmaren tugged the headband firmly onto his head, shaking it a bit just to hear the soft tinkling of bells…he loved bells. Bells, bells; everywhere, everything and anything bells. Not really big bells on clothes, but little bells. And big bells in towers. And jingling bells on shoes. Dreams, Insomnia loved bells.

He shook his head again, grinning at the soft tinkle that answered him; still grinning he headed out the door, finally happy with his choice between forest green and neon green headbands. Headbands, in his opinion, were better than floppies; they kept his hair out of his eyes but didn't get in the way themselves. He skimmed along the hall instead of walking, showing that he was in a good mood. Of course, Insomnia always was.

Yeep!

He skidded to a halt, narrowly keeping himself from slamming head-on into Mr. Mi---No, Reala! Yes, Reala. Ever since he'd heard that one little dreamer muttering about something that sounded like "poke 'em on" and Mr. Mime, he couldn't keep himself from referring to the Seeker General as such. Not to his face, of course, but it was still a habit he was trying to break. The other day he'd nearly said that instead of Reala's name when the nightmaren addressed him---shards, what if he had? He'd be nothing but little bits of floating dream energy by now. Yes, he had to stop referring to Reala as such.

He jumped as Reala's claws sank into the diamond-patterned cloth on his chest and pulled him close. "Well, answer me!"

Oh boy. What did he say? "I---I'm sorry, Lord Reala, didn't see you coming---didn't know you--"

"I said, where's Nights?"

Oh. "D-don't know, sir, think he might be in the Hall…"

Whew. Insomnia breathed out a silent sigh of relief as the Seeker General dropped him and continued on down the hall. Then stiffened as his leader called out again. "Next time, watch where you're going!"

Slowly he turned his head, making sure that the bad-tempered maren was truly gone. Yes, he was---Insomnia could just barely see his red-and-black tails disappearing into the shadows. Whew. Close one.

He climbed to his feet and brushed himself off, thinking. Where to now? He was off duty, and didn't want to spend it sitting in his room…hm. Reala was looking for Nights, so no chance of hanging out with the high-ranking jester himself. 

He brightened. Luna should be almost done with training duty. He'd go and hang out nearby, make rude comments about her teaching skills, and then get chased away. Then, once she was done, they could hang out together. Sure, that's what he'd do.

Happy to have made a solid decision, he turned and headed down the hall, recent exchange with Reala already forgotten by his slightly flightly mind. Forgetting that his flying about had caused him trouble only a few minutes earlier, he took to skimming along the ground once again, grinning happily. It was a good day in Nightmare Castle.

"NIGHTS!"

Nights winced at the sound of his brother's bellow and turned to face the nightmaren currently standing in the doorway of the Great Hall, face forward, not bothering to look around for his brother but rather taking the more direct---and loud---route. "That's me, Reala, not him. You're looking at Gillwing."

Reala scowled, then shot an angry glare at Gillwing and Jackle, who were both sniggering. They stopped at once, and watched him head over to where his brother was sitting; then instantly resumed their glee, albeit a bit lower this time.

Nights grinned cheerily at his brother, acting as if he hadn't a care in the world, which was partially true. Despite the fact that the personage stomping up to him looked like a monster from one's worst nightmares, or perhaps someone you'd see at Mardi Gras. A Mardi Gras celebrator with a weird sense of humor.

Reala's scowl became even deeper at his light-headed brother's carelessness. "Wipe that mindless grin off your face and be serious for two seconds, Nights. I know that's a lot to ask, but do you think you could manage it?"

Nights appeared to seriously ponder the question; then he grinned. "Sure!"

Reala sighed, obviously wondering whether or not he should hit someone in the near vicinity over the head; deciding against such action, at least for now, he returned to his original purpose. "Where the heck have you been?"

"Oh, hither, thither, and yon," said Nights airily, waving a hand in the general direction of all about them. "Up, down, in, out, around."

"Everywhere except where you were supposed to be," snapped Reala. "It's only an hour or so to dreamfall, and you haven't even been out searching for Ideya yet!"

"I'll get some, don't worry," murmured Nights, lolling onto his back and kicking his feet in the air lazily. "Besides, it's not like you to worry abut others' problems; what's with you, Reala?"

"Oh, only that I just had a talk with Wizeman, and he's not happy with the current amount of Ideya coming in!" snapped Reala sarcastically.

The mention of their master's name had a wondrous effect on the High Seekers gathered in the Great Hall. All quiet murmuring instantly stilled; Nights, formerly the picture of carefree abandon, flipped himself up into a sitting position and stared at his brother worriedly. "What?"

"Finally you sober up," smirked Reala. "About time. Yes, dear brother, Wizeman is thinking about increasing the amount of Ideya collected per day."

"Slavedriver," commented Jackle under his breath, then sucking in said breath as Reala turned to glare at him.

"What was that you said?"

"Nothing," whimpered Jackle, mentally hitting himself. _'Shards, Jackle, do you always have to go sticking your foot in your mouth?'_

"Oh, good. For a moment I thought I heard you slight our master." Reala turned back to his brother, grinning at the maren's frightened babble behind him.

"Oh no, sir, not at all, didn't say a thing, especially not against master, have no idea where you got THAT idea---"

"Shut up." Jackle did. "Anyway, Nights…" Reala's expression became serious again. "If I were you, I'd get my purple self out there and start collecting---Wizeman's gonna have a fit if he finds out you haven't gotten a single one yet today."

"You're right," sighed Nights, standing quickly. That was the odd thing about Nights; he didn't mind admitting he was wrong. Very odd for a nightmaren. "I'll go out right away. Thanks for warning me, Reala."

"You'd better watch it, Nights, or you're going to get yourself in deep trouble one of these days."

"I'll watch out." Without warning his face shifted back into his normal cheerful grin. "So, off I go to run about collecting Ideya like crazy! Joy of my soul!" He did a little happy dance to illustrate his point.

Reala stared at him unbelievingly, shaking his tasseled head. Nights was asking for it, and big time. He shouldn't be surprised if he actually got it one day.

At the other end of the Great Hall, Jackle and Gillwing were knowingly quiet, watching the dancing nightmaren and his annoyed brother half-wryly, half-amusedly. It was a normal day at Nightmare Castle.

Clawz stretched luxuriously, purring as he felt his back finally snap and slide back the way it should. He'd had that crick for the whole day now, and it was seriously beginning to get annoying. Cricks in his back always cramped his style.

He purred again and stretched one lazy paw out, batting absent-mindedly at a mouse toy nearby. His room was so quiet---not that the catmaren didn't like it that way. Normally he was furious if anyone dared to enter his domain and bother him with stupid things, usually orders from Wizeman to do some menial task or other…ugh. As if he was really meant for menial tasks. No, he was meant to be leader--and a stylish one, at that. And leaders deserved their own private space. Normally he enjoyed his.

But at the moment he felt a bit bored. He pondered going back into the Great Hall and seeing if anyone was there, but then decided against it; it was less than an hour to dreamfall, and the High Seekers' 'recreation room' was probably deserted. 

The catmaren's sensitive ears pricked up as footsteps came down the hall. He waited, almost hoping that they'd stop at his door and bring in some excitement, but they didn't. He growled quietly in disappointment as they continued further down the hall.

Well, it was clear that if he wanted some excitement, he'd have to make it himself. Maybe he'd go down and watch the younger nightmaren training; there were bound to be a few late classes going yet. Yes, that was always interesting. He chuckled quietly as he rolled over; with a cat-like smoothness he slid gracefully off the perch situated half-way up his wall, landing silently on the tiled floor. His was the only room in the entire castle that had tile flooring; he'd requested it specially. Carpet snagged his claws, wood couldn't stand up to the various explosions that sometimes went off in his room, and the glassy substance that Wizeman called 'shir' coating most of the patterned floors was too noisy; every time Clawz walked across a shir-coated floor, his namesakes clacked dreadfully. Of course, he could retract them, but he liked walking with his claws out. They gave him a bit of fearsomeness, class, and style. And he liked being stylish.

He pushed open his door and went out, speculatively fondling the small, mouse-shaped bombs he always carried hidden in the fur around his neck, attached carefully to his collar. Perhaps he could help make a training session or two a bit more…exciting. He purred. It was a good day at Nightmare Castle.

"Drafty out."

"Hn."

Pause.

"Very drafty."

"Hn."

Another pause.

"Geez, it's drafty out here."

"Hn."

Pause.

Silence.

Still silence.

"…Did I mention it's drafty out here?"

"…"

"Yeah, well, it is."

"…"

Silence.

"How's guard duty?"

Chink nearly jumped out of his skin as his brother Chank came up out of the shadows. Hist merely hn-ed again and turned back to watching the outer wall. Several crows, cawing, flew overhead, and he turned to watch them with quite a bit of interest. _'That's odd. They're headed south…what is there south of here?'_

Chink shrugged, drawing his coat tighter about him. "Fine, I guess. Nobody around---"

"As usual."

"Right. But it's a bit---"

"Drafty?"

"Yep. How's it?…"

"Oh, fine. They got a fire going."

"Ah. I envy you."

"Sorry. When's?

"Couple more hours."

"Oh. Well, I'll tell them to keep it---"

"Going?"

"Yes. Here, brought you…"

Now, for once, Chink didn't know the end of the sentence; he leaned forward eagerly, hoping whatever-it-was was both edible and hot. Chank looked up, momentarily surprised at the silence; then, he laughed at himself. "Dummy."

"Yeah," chuckled Chink. "How could I know what you brought?"

"Just missed having you tack onto the end…" 

The brothers were, to all practical senses, alike in every way, aside from the fact that Chink, unlike his brother Chank, had painted odd little curls at the ends of his eyes to help people distinguish between the two. 

Apart from the eye oddity, they were almost completely alike. They seemed to think alike, too; both had an almost eerie ability to guess what the other was going to say, down to the exact wording. It was unusual, to say the least; several nightmaren claimed they got wigged out when in the room along with both of the brothers. Hearing them carry on a conversation consisting of half-sentences and single words was---wrong, somehow. It was like they could read minds or something.

Chink and Chank were both not sure how to regard their infamy: on one hand, it was nice to be slightly feared; on the other, it tended to become a problem at the most unexpected of times. Certainly their names weren't frightening. The brothers had never been able to figure out why they were given names that were so….well, odd would be putting it nicely. All the other nightmaren had names like "Fearstriker" and "Cruelty" and "Nightwing", and what were their titles? Chink. And Chank.

Chank held out a steaming thermos of something to his black-clad brother. Both liked wearing black; it added to their mysterious look. "Here. Soup."

"What---"

"Mushroom."

Chink made a face, but inhaled the steam thankfully anyway. "Mmm…at least it's warm, eh?"

"Yeah. Sorry I couldn't get---"

"S'alright. We'll share." He turned amiably enough to Hist, who was gazing out across the open plain with cold eyes. "Right?"

"I do not want any."

"Hn." It was Chink's turn to utilize sounds as conversation; the little humph carried his meaning well enough. He looked back at Chank with a little shrug. "Some nightmaren…"

Chank nodded, understanding him perfectly. "Goodnight---see you in a few hours."

"Good night. Thanks for…"

"Sure." He left just as silently as he had come.

Chink opened the thermos eagerly and began to eat, not really feeling that sorry for the silent nightmaren beside him. Let him starve if he couldn't be more polite.

Hist leaned back against the cold pillar, not noticing the chill that worked its way through him from the stone. The dream world stretched out endlessly in front of them, shining and dark under the beautiful moon; and that chattering fool of a nightmaren was finally quiet, thank Wizeman. Sighing happily, Hist settled down and prepared to silently enjoy the rest of his watch studying the distant trees under the moonbeams. It was a good night at Nightmare Castle.

Nights hummed under his breath, playing absent-mindedly with the deck of cards he'd found in the hall. Jackle must have dropped it. Either that, or those younger maren were stealing his decks again. They knew nothing annoyed the High Seeker more than losing a deck---aside, perhaps, from having his things moved around. Jackle liked his mess where it was, thank you very much.

Shrugging, Nights continued to shuffle the deck, some small part of his mind wondering how the demi-maren managed to flick the cards about so easily without loosing a single one. Lots and lots of practice, he supposed. Perhaps Wizeman had created him with a special knack for it, too.

He looked out the window again, hoping to see the flash of red, black and white that denoted his brother's return, but was again disappointed. Reala was still out and about somewhere.

Well, he couldn't wait all night---he'd just have to wait until tomorrow to talk. Reala wouldn't be all that thrilled, he supposed, but Nights liked having a conversation with his brother; when they were alone, Reala allowed a bit more of his feelings to show. And he somehow managed to understand Nights perfectly, despite their differences. Nights found that whenever he was confused or restless, talking with Reala helped him sort out his thoughts. And he was feeling a bit unsettled today, though he didn't know why. He wanted to talk.

However Reala wasn't here, so Nights would have to wait until tomorrow to chat. Sighing, he laid the deck on his desk, making a mental note to give it back to Jackle tomorrow. The demi-maren was probably hunting for it, and although Nights liked a joke as well as any nightmaren, he wasn't cruel. He'd give it back and make Jackle happy.

He was tired. He dropped onto his bed carelessly, rolling over to stare up at his ceiling; it was patterned with purple and blue, the paint drawn into exquisite designs. It was almost mesmerizing, looking up and seeing the lace-like detail. He'd requested it done; he liked his room to be bright, but tasteful. Reala liked the gothic look, and Jackle's room resembled a child's playhouse, but Nights liked a bit of sophisticated fun. Purple and blue and green, with hints of other colors mixed in. Lots of patterns.

Musing on the interesting subject of room décor, he fell asleep. 

Reala was silent as he landed, but his approach had not gone unnoticed. Out of the shadows stepped two guards; one of the two came closer, spear calmly held up and slightly out. "State your name, trespasser."

The nightmaren leader turned and looked at him, a hint of amusement touching his mouth. "Reala."

The guard's eyed widened slightly, and he dropped to one knee, his partner doing the same. "My apologies, milord," he murmured.

Reala nodded once. "Resume your post."

The guards stood easily and moved back to where they had been sitting before, although this time they remained standing. Reala smiled as he turned and headed inside.

Going up the stairs, he pondered stopping by Nights' room, but decided against it; his brother was probably already asleep. And really, he had no need to check in on him. Nights could take care of himself. No doubt he'd gathered the required Ideya and then some, and gone to bed.

Shaking his head at his own softness, Reala went into his room. It was dark inside, but he knew where everything was. He moved silently through the first room, a sitting room of sorts, into the true bedroom, and rummaged around until he found a match. Striking it, he lit the two lamps standing by his bed. The light shining through their golden shades coated the room with a dusky yellow glow. That accomplished, he got in and spent a good twenty minutes reading. He wasn't a constant reader, but he liked books. They were useful in their way. This one was on military strategy; Nights, had he seen it sitting on his brother's bedside table, probably would have laughed and said it fit.

Finishing his second chapter he found himself tiring, and decided to turn in. After setting aside his book and blowing out the lamps, it was only a few minutes until he was asleep. 

Jackle rubbed his eyes wearily, the more reasonable side of his mind reminding him it was most certainly time for bed. "Just one more chapter."

"You always say that."

"I mean it, though. Just one more."

"No, it's time for bed. You've got a long day ahead of you."

"I do?"

"Probably. Wizeman upped the Ideya par, remember?"

"He was thinking about it, not he did it."

"Close enough. The thought's there, and it's not much more to go before he off and does it. He's like that."

"Don't speak so airily about the Master---he's not a pushover."

"Which is why I'm telling you to get to sleep. You don't want to get in trouble, do you?"

"Oh, fine. You win this round."

"As always." He smirked.

"Shut up." 

There was a moment of silence. Jackle flipped a page.

"JACKLE."

"Okay, okay! I give up!"

"Finally."

Jackle stood and began to weave his way towards the bed, side-stepping piles of blocks and over-sized jack-in-the-boxes. "Really, you get so annoying sometimes," he complained.

"S'not my fault." 

"True."

Skirting the bed, he moved to the wall. Several blocks at least his size were piled against it; he went to the last one and shoved it aside, revealing a wooden door built into the wall. He'd requested it from Wizeman himself. It had been terrifying, asking the Master for an extra room when he'd only been given one, but it had meant a lot to him. He liked his stuff where it was, and there was no telling what those younger nightmaren would do if given the chance… He wanted a hidden spot, a place to store all of his things. Wizeman had been kind enough to give it to him. The nerve-wracking experience had been worth it.

He opened the door, stepping through into a small, dimly-lit study. Shelves lined the walls, filled with precious books. He loved books. They were hard to come by, especially ones he wanted, but he'd been gradually filling up his collection over the years. A chest or two lay against the back wall, filled with special decks and antique boxes holding different things; a desk sat near the middle, the place he kept all of his drawing supplies and papers and whatnot. And his supply of candles.

He looked rather regretfully at the comfy chair sitting near the corner, but then shook his head. "No, can't stay up any longer. Long day tomorrow."

"Oh, fine. I'm going to bed."

He placed his book in it's space on the shelf, smiling wryly. That habit of arguing with himself as if he were two people would have gotten him some very strange looks, had he been with others. Once or twice while with someone else he'd actually had to stop mid-word before he answered himself. 

Actually, he'd probably get more than strange looks---someone would go running for Wizeman shouting that Jackle had lost it, most likely. But he hadn't lost it. It just made sense to speak to himself; he found it easier to understand himself than anyone else. Besides, it helped him to think when he spoke out loud. Arguing both sides of the problem helped him to make a better choice.

Briefly, the image of what would happen should he start talking to himself in Great Hall came to his mind, and he chuckled. It would almost be worth it just to see the look on Clawz's face. That prissy kitty would probably look like he'd seen an elephant fly by.

"I'd give a lot to see that," he commented.

"Yeah, so would I." That was Jackle too.

"But then he'd get all condescending and stuff, you know. 'Oh, I always knew that maren was insane. Now's he's finally flipped his lid' and all that."

"Ha. What does he know? Why, remember that book by Lewis Carroll? His heroine Alice liked to pretend she was more than one person." He folded his cape carefully over the back of some blocks that served as a bedside table. 

"That was a human." He laid down, pulling the blanket over himself instantly. He felt a bit open without his cape, but the blanket helped a lot. It felt sort of like his mantle.

"True. Clawz would find something bad to remark about that."

"Alright, then, no talking to myself when I'm with others. Still, nice to know that if we're ever in a situation where we're captured by savages and our lives will be spared only if we have an insane person among us, I'll be able to do the trick, hm?"

"…you always were an optimist."

"What, you'd rather me be realistic? I, for one, don't want another Reala around…"

"Oh, geez. I just got this mental picture…okay, keep your optimism. No more Realas, thank you very much."

"Nice to know we agree."

"Yup."

And he fell asleep. 


	2. Night Of Dreams: Someone Listens

~AN~: Yup, another long and entirely uneeded author's note! Joy.

Right now I'm in the middle of getting ready for end-of-the-year evaluations---I swear, PA must be the absolute worst state for home schooling laws---and so I'm now writing a ten-page research paper on Langston Hughes. It'll be awhile before I get done with that, and only then will I be allowed to continue writing the next part of the chronicles. *snif* 

You should also know that this story, while certainly a story, is not meant to stand on it's own. Not only will those loose ends mentioned in the first author's note be throughout this account, they will extend to it's very last page. So for all of this to truly make sense, you'll have to read not only this story, but the others I'll be writing in the future.

So where do you guys come in to this? Well, I've got the other two chapters of this story already written, and I had planned to upload them every other week, so it would look like I was doing something and striving to get this up for you instead of just sitting there trying to come up with the next story; and hopefully while I was taking my time posting those chapters up I could get to work on my next piece of work, so you wouldn't get a tale and then have to wait five months for the next portion. However it would seem several people are actually waiting for this thing, so I broke down and decided to just post the rest. It'll be awhile before I put up the next story because I don't have a single sentence of it written down, but you people are patient when you need to be, right?

Yeah, I thought so. 

Discombobulator: Woogawoogawoogarubberchicken. Ha ha ha. Figure that out if you can.

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This one's for you, NightDragon! 

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Do not listen.

Do not stand at dusk in the open windows.

We before you have heard this:

they are voices:

They are not words at all but the wind rising…

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Night Of Dreams: 

Someone Listens

That night, Nights had a dream.

Which was pretty unusual, as nightmaren technically aren't able to have dreams. Hallucinations, yes, enchantments, sure, visions, maybe, but dreams? Well, considering the fact that they were creatures of the dream world, and they created nightmares, dreams weren't uncommon: they were extremely, unbelievably, almost non-existently rare.

All arguments against nightmaren dreaming aside, there isn't really any law that states nightmaren are unable to dream; however it's about as common as having a purple cow juggling seven goldfish while riding a motorcycle coming through your living room window. Because of this, Nights never suspected that he would actually dream. Because of that, he didn't recognize the dream as being a dream while he was in it. Because of _that_, he thought the entire thing was real. Never a good thing, if the dream is bad.

Which his was.

He first became aware of the fact that he was in a room---no, a cave---no, maybe a cavern---a hall?…He couldn't really tell. Fog wafted all about him, hiding anything out there from view; somehow he knew that he was in an enclosed space, though. How he knew, he wasn't sure, but then dreams are like that.

Of course he wasn't aware that it was a dream. So his first thought, upon finding himself in this strange misty room without any warning, was _'How did I get here?'_.

The next thought was _'I'm floating.'_. 

The third was _'Where the heck am I?'_.

As none of his questions seemed about to be answered, he decided to just freeze and take stock of the situation. First things first. He'd been lying down in bed, thinking random thoughts, when out of nowhere he suddenly just found himself here. That meant that someone must have brought him---maybe. Maybe he'd just been dropped randomly in an unknown pocket of time and mass by accident. Maybe his bed was directly over a wrinkle in the space/time continuum. Maybe this was all a mistake. 

Maybe he was going crazy.

_'No, that's not it,'_ he decided, looking around. This seemed too real to be a hallucination. Alright, then, he was in an unknown pocket of space and time, or at least a really weird room he didn't recognize, and he was floating, but not by his own power. So what now?

Being the risk-taker that he was, he experimented with reaching down through the mist, trying to locate the bottom with his foot. He found, to his surprise, that he could float lower or higher with just a thought; further exploration revealed that it was the same with moving horizontally. Made a bit more confident with these finds, he shot upwards, hoping to perhaps touch the ceiling of the place.

He hadn't gotten more than a few feet from his starting position when he felt the thing _move._

He had no idea how he knew; his sight was still filled with that strange fog, and as far as he could see it stretched in all directions without stopping. Yet somehow he knew that he was in a room of some sort, and that room was morphing.

He paused and waited, feeling the walls about him change; they began to bulge outwards and take shape, twisting and moving beyond his sight. And then it was all over.

He waited for a moment, floating silently, wondering; when nothing popped up and tried to bite his head off, he started up once more.

Without warning, his head broke through the fog, and he found himself staring down at the dusky mass. Looking around, he saw that he was in what looked to be a field---a field? He had been in a room a moment ago…

Glancing towards his feet, he saw the fog start to swirl and dissipate. He watched curiously as it broke apart and disappeared, fading like an early morning mist in June. Squinting, he could make out ground beneath.

Ground---well, that was somewhere to start. He bent sharply at the waist and headed down, touching lightly on what he now saw was grass. He took a breath and looked around once more, examining the valley that seemed to have sprung up about him. Now that the fog was gone he could see the sun, and a brook was running through the grass on his left. Bushes spouted here and there along its banks. All in all it was a very pleasant little place.

_'Which explains absolutely nothing as to why I'm here.' _He moved towards the brook, stopping at its edge and staring into the clear water, watching it bound along the rocks. _'Nice place, but WHERE THE HECK AM I?'_

Well, staring into the water was not getting him any answers… Sighing, he straightened and looked around again. Maybe if he traveled down the valley and found the outlet he would run into someone…

Wait. What was that?

He squinted, suddenly aware of the almost painfully bright rays of sun shining into his eyes; he shaded them with his hand, trying hard to focus on what appeared to be a blob of shadow flying towards him. Probably not a good thing.

The sun abruptly stopped shining in his eyes, and he looked up. Just a cloud flying overhead. Looking back down again he found he could see the thing more clearly, but it still appeared to be nothing more than a large, pulsing cloud of grey heading for him at a fast clip. Almost certainly not a good thing.

He spun on his heel and sprang, expecting to feel the weightlessness of flying---and found himself crashing onto his face. Yes, this was definitely not a good thing.

He scrambled up and whirled about, facing the shadow once more, his mind suddenly filled with panicked questions. Why couldn't he fly?

He tried again, this time just bouncing on his toes a little, hoping against hope that he would continue on up, but he remained solidly on ground. Something was terribly wrong; he'd been able to fly all his life! He couldn't have just lost the ability like that…

_'Marvelous time for it to happen, too,'_ he mused, giving the oncoming shadow one last glance before turning and running blindly. He didn't know exactly where he was going, or even why he thought running would help, since the blob traveled much faster than he could on foot, but it was an instinctive move. _'I've got to get out of this valley and find someplace to hide---find someone else. There's got to be people here, right?'_

He glanced back over his shoulder---and the last thing he saw before he was knocked down was the shadow swirling right behind him.

He rolled with the blow, shoving himself into a sitting position and then a crouch, ready to run but having no place to run to. The dark was all around him, now, pulsing, little tendrils of shadow writhing out of the mass to curl about his face. He jerked away, at the same time finding some small, quiet corner of his mind wondering why they didn't feel cold; usually shadow was connected to cold.

_'Great time to be thinking about that!'_ he berated himself, eyes darting back and forth, watching the darkness that seemed content to merely circle about him. _'It's not attacking me, so maybe it doesn't want to hurt me.'_

That belief was instantly destroyed when one of the tendrils shot out, burying itself deep in his chest.

He managed a startled gasp, trying to jerk back but finding himself suddenly hemmed in on all sides by the now-shoving shadow. As quickly and surprisingly painlessly as it had entered his chest, the tendril left, leaving no mark on his skin to show where it had gone through---but in it's grasp was a white Ideya.

It was right about there that Nights began to realize he'd probably left reality some time ago.

He stared at the shining orb in the shadow's grasp, mind shouting that it was impossible, that the whole thing was wrong. _'I don't have any Ideya! How did that stuff get it from me? I'm not supposed to have Ideya at all---I'm supposed to gather it from other people!'_

The instant that thought entered his mind, the darkness drew back. The Ideya in its grasp disappeared, and the shadow began to dissipate. _'What in the name of Wizeman's going on?'_

Nights stood slowly, watching as the last of the darkness faded, leaving him standing alone once more in the middle of the valley that looked like it had come out of a child's book. Whatever the shadow had wanted, apparently it had gotten.

He shook his head wearily, not sure what had happened or if he even wanted to know. Then he yawned, surprising himself.

"Since when was I tired?" he mumbled, a bit startled by the sound of his own voice in the silent valley. "I was scared out of my wits not two seconds ago, and now I'm…tired…"

The last coherent thought he had before falling into sleep was: _'Someone, get me out of here.'_

That night, Nights had a dream. 

It was an odd day at Nightmare Castle.

That night, Reala had a dream. 

It was strange, he reflected, looking at the rows upon rows of bottles. Why bottles? Why would anyone in their right mind fill an entire room with nothing but bottles? And such big bottles, too. What would anyone collect in such quantity that they needed a roomful of nightmaren-sized bottles to hold it all? And if they DID find something that fit that description, why wasn't it in the bottles now? Why were they all empty?

Of course, the first question that came to his mind was where in the dream world was he, but one had to wonder.

However Reala was not one to stand there and conjecture about the contents of the room he found himself in; he wanted to know how he had gotten here, and if someone else had sent him, and why they did, and where the heck he was anyway. But still, the bottles were strange.

_'Will you forget the stupid bottles?'_ he snapped at himself as he walked among the rows, hoping for an exit. He'd discovered within two minutes of finding himself here his inability to fly, and being Reala he was not unduly frazzled over it. Yes, he was worried, and it bugged him to no end, but it wasn't like he was obsessing. So he couldn't fly. He felt confident he could protect himself anyway.

It was odd, he thought, wandering among the bottles. He didn't remember coming here---why, he didn't remember anything, really. What was the last thing he did before he landed here? For the life of him he couldn't recall. That was even more disturbing than his loss of flight.

Warily, he looked at the far wall. He'd been walking for what---twenty minutes now? At least. And yet that wall wasn't getting any closer. But really, it wasn't _that_ far away. Why couldn't he get anywhere?

He glanced around in a manner that could almost be called worried, but then calmed himself. He'd probably gotten turned around while walking through this confounded maze of bottles. Yes, that was it. Confidently, he held his head high and struck a course straight for the far wall.

Half an hour later, or somewhere thereabout, Reala came to the same conclusion his brother had just a little while ago: he'd probably left reality awhile back.

Halting, he stared in frustration at the wall. He hadn't faltered off course once---and yet it was still just as far away as ever. Reala began to have a sneaking suspicion he was the victim of some joke. A very large joke, but a joke nonetheless. Reala hated being laughed at.

Resolutely, he started out for the wall once more---and, after a couple of yards, stopped. The wall was not getting closer, and he sincerely doubted it would be any time soon. There was no reason to keep walking. Sighing quietly, he sat down and began to polish his sword.

He thought as he worked, his mind running over the possibilities. There weren't any nightmaren powerful enough to create this strong a hallucination, at least as far as he was aware. He'd always suspected the High Seekers had more potential than they knew, but none of them could create something like this. And no ordinary nightmaren would dare do such a thing. Wizeman was the only sane choice.

Well, if Wizeman wanted him here, than he wanted him here, and there was nothing Reala could do about it. Looking down and contemplating his dark reflection in the shadowy blade, he had to admit that it would have been a lot easier if his master had given him some sort of instruction as to what he was actually supposed to _do_.

However, you work with what you have. Standing, he sheathed his now-bright sword and began walking once more.

He'd only gone a minute or so when he realized something was different.

Up ahead of him, in what looked to be the middle of the room, was a tower. A stone tower, like one you would see on castles in old medieval stories. It was tall, but a bit worn-looking; there was even moss growing in some of the cracks between the stones.

_'This is too strange,'_ mused Reala, turning slightly and heading for the tower, as his quest for the wall seemed hopeless, at least for the moment. _'What the heck is a tower doing here? In the middle of a room full of bottles…'_

He strode up to the tower, feeling pleased when it didn't continually recede like the wall. For a moment he evaluated it silently. It was at least twice his height, but thin; he doubted more than four nightmaren could sit comfortably on top. The battlements round the top were short, made more for decorative purposes than protection, apparently.

His lips twisted into a wry grin. _'No wonder. Bottles aren't known for their violent rebellions.'_

Thoughtfully, he began pacing, wanting to see if the back of the tower looked the same as the front. At least, what he thought might be the back of the tower. Considering the whole thing was round, that was a bit hard to find.

Coming around to the portion he hadn't been able to see before, he was rewarded by finding a doorway.

It wasn't a heavy oak door, or a thin metal one, or even a blanket hung over the space---just an empty doorway, showing a very plain interior. Just a round stone tower, empty inside and out.

No, wait, take that back. Looking closer, Reala found there was a ladder hidden in the shadows to the right; apparently, one had to go in the tower to get to the top. Made sense, he supposed.

Feeling the slightest bit of trepidation, he stepped in. When he wasn't immediately attacked, he moved to the ladder and started up, keeping his senses tuned.

The ladder led him to a small trapdoor in the wooden ceiling; it opened with the smallest of pushes. Climbing out, he found himself kneeling on the top of the tower. He stood and walked over to the battlements; they were ankle high.

He snorted. _'What good is that? They look nice from a distance, but offer no practical use whatsoever. They don't even help keep you from falling off. Useless.'_

He looked around, taking in the view with rather mixed emotions. One side of him was merely confused; the other was downright annoyed. Which, considering he was standing on a medieval tower in the middle of a grey-walled room that was filled with head-high empty bottles, wasn't really that odd.

_'Now that I think about it,' _he mused, _'this isn't like Wizeman at all. He would have had monsters attacking me to test my strength, or mind tests to find out my mental ability---something that would bring him useful results. This entire thing is as useless as this tower.'_

A frown touched his mouth. If Wizeman wasn't the one who put him here, then that meant someone else was behind this; and aside from his master, Reala answered to no one. So this was done by a second-level. Reala didn't like being played with by someone below him. Jackle, and several scars across his invisible body, could attest to that fact.

He contemplated his surroundings, quite unsure as to what he should do. His eyes roamed over the bottles, all the same size, the same shape, the same dusky grey-blue color. All empty.

Roaming the room, his eyes found one that was different.

His gaze focused on a single bottle at the very edge of the room, crowded in just like the others. It looked like the others, too, at least in form and color. But this bottle was different. It was full.

Full of what? Some sort of liquid, most likely, although even straining as hard as he was able he could not for the life of him figure out what the stuff was. He would have to go see. It wasn't as if he had better things to do.

Turning, he was about to make his way down the ladder when his eye caught something off-looking. Re-balancing himself, he turned his head and found it. Another full bottle.

Very odd. He glanced around, and was suddenly aware of two more full bottles. Why hadn't he seen them before? They stood out from the others sharply, their contents dark against the paleness of the rest. He should have seen them. 

A sneaking suspicion tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around slowly, taking in the entire room. He was right. He found three more full bottles.

Where were they coming from? He halted and looked around, finding five more even as he did so. It was like they just kept filling up…

"What's going on?" he shouted, finally losing his patience. Whoever had put him here owed him an explanation, at the very least.

If anyone was watching him at the moment, they didn't seem particularly interested in answering.

He snarled and turned away, intending to go down the ladder and see one of those filled bottles up close. It was then the sleepiness hit him.

_'When I get out of here,'_ he thought, right before falling into unconsciousness, _'I'm going to find the person responsible for this, and I'm going to hurt them.'_

That night, Reala had a dream.

It was an odd day at Nightmare Castle.

That night, Jackle had a dream. And in it were voices.

_silence_

_dusk tread softly_

tread softly surely dusk so pure love dusk and silver and shining star

love dusk and wind and rhythm of water

love water and wind and shining starry sky oh! Love dusk

yes love dusk and dark

dark and shadow and night 

lovely night love night

yes love night all love night night best night pure night whole night love night

love night night world pretty night! so pretty

song and shadow and mirror and sea so pretty love love love!

song and sea sing loud sing strong sing oh! sing song

love sing love shadow sand singing oh love singing all love sing

yes love sing and love mirrors and glinting glass

glinting glinting glass so pretty

pretty pretty things love pretty things all so pretty

sing oh sing oh sing! sing of dusk

dusk pretty dusk pure dusk whole

love dusk love dark love dusk

yes love dusk dusk filled dusk full

love dusk

yes love dusk

love dusk

love dusk

Silence.

That night, Jackle had a dream. He heard voices.

It was a normal day at Nightmare Castle.


	3. Glimmers Of Truth: Winds Rising

~AN~: Yep, this is it. The last chapter. The finish. Done. Bam. Fertig, to say it in German. The End. 

*sigh* Yes, I KNOW it is about as complete as a teacup without tea! But like I've already been telling you for the past two chapters---and cushioning this blow was really my only reason for writing those long things---this isn't meant to stand on it's own. It's just the first of the series, so to speak; think Narnian Chronicles or something. Only more dependant on each other.

So please, don't flame me or send reviews saying "It's too short!!!" I know it is, and if I had my way around this place I would now spend the next five hours working on the second story. However we have a little rule in our house that states, without question, that when it comes to matters of school MOM IS BOSS. And she says I'm not to continue writing until I finish that research paper. *sighs again*

I'm writing it as fast as I can! Please, give me some slack. And I'll try and write the second story as soon as is humanly possible. 

*grin* Thanks for the reviews, guys. 'Til my next dream.

Claimer: Mom, no matter what my brother says, I had nothing to do with the burnt teapot. Really.

__

As for the nights I warn you the nights are dangerous:

The wind changes and the dreams come.

It is very cold,

there are strange stars near Arcturus,

Voices are crying an unknown name in the sky

__

Glimmers Of Truth: 

Winds Rising

Nights was half-way out of bed before he was awake.

"Wha?…"

He halted on the edge, blinking confusedly. He was in his room, on his bed, with the solid floorboards underneath his feet. His coverlet was still warm to the touch. The last few stars were just beginning to fade outside his window.

He got up and staggered over to it, leaning out and taking a gulp of the fresh crisp air. It helped clear his head. Blinking again, he took a deep breath and continued to lean out, mind a bit more organized now.

_'What _was_ that?' _he questioned himself. _'Was that---a dream? It felt so real…but there's no other options, really…but I thought nightmaren didn't dream…what _was_ that?'_

No one answered him. He looked up at the lightening sky, seeing without really noticing; his eyes focused on a faint blue star. He didn't remember it…

_'What was that dream for?'_

Reala bolted up, muscles tensed, reflexes ready to fight in an instant. The only thing he saw was his own wall.

He gazed around, trying to process the fact that where a strange bottle-filled room had been moments before, his bedroom was now. Had he been dreaming the whole time?

The warm blankets underneath and above him were what clinched it. He hadn't moved an inch for awhile.

_'A dream?' _he mused, getting up and moving to his window. _'I don't recall any incidents of nightmaren having dreams. Why have I suddenly been given the experience?'_

He looked upwards, feeling the night breeze whisper through his hair. "Why me?" he murmured.

The stars did not answer. But one lone blue one twinkled knowingly.

Jackle knew before he even opened his eyes where he was.

He sighed, wondering whether or not to get up. He was nice and warm here in bed, but it wasn't worth it to try and get back to sleep if it was too near dawn. Concentrating, he waited for the faintest scent from outside to be wafted in his window; after a moment, he was rewarded by a wisp of breeze. It smelled like almost-morning air. Might as well get up.

He rose slowly, stretching and moaning pleasurably as a tight spot in the back of his neck began to ease out. Rubbing the spot gently, he went out on the balcony.

He was lucky. He had his own balcony out on the side of the castle. He liked it that way; he was close to the air and wind, and the smells of the forest were carried to his room. It was a nice sitting place.

He'd been right about the time---the last few stars were going in now. Leaning on the railing, he inhaled, filling his lungs with the near-dawn air. Feeling calmed and peaceful, he cocked his head up to see the stars.

The morning star was still bright above, but very few others were visible. Straining, he could only faintly make out the familiar form of the Sickle constellation to the left, and the Ship's Wheel out across the horizon. Then he found the odd star.

His brow furrowed. For the past few weeks he'd noticed strange stars in the sky. They were new, sharp, different then the others. They were strange. 

He stared upwards, feeling the dawn breeze ruffle his short golden hair. "What's wrong?" he whispered. 

And the stars answered all his questions.

It was just at dawn that the winds began to change.

Hist, leaving the wall top, noticed the difference in the air and stopped. He could feel the breezes shifting, moving about and murmuring. The winds were rising.

_'That is…odd,' _he thought. _'They shouldn't be changing now. It's not the right weather.'_

But they did. The winds changed that day.

No one expected it.

It was supposed to be a normal day: Ideya collecting, Nightopian harassing, dreamer frightening, the usual. True, Wizeman's summons were almost always abrupt, but they were summons for certain nightmaren who had distinguished themselves, whether in a good way or a bad. His call for each and every nightmaren under his control to be there in his throne room in half an hour was startling, to say the least.

Nights was flurried. What was happening? Wizeman would only call for such a great assembly if he was going to make an announcement that would change their entire world. He had enough to worry about, what with his odd dream; he didn't need this problem as well.

Reala had no idea what was going on. That bothered him to no end. He knew Wizeman---knew him well. He could always tell when the ruler was about to put forth some new idea or change in the Nightmare Kingdom. So why hadn't he seen this coming?

Jackle---Jackle was not surprised. He'd known something was wrong. The stars had told his heart so.

The gathered Minions murmured and shuffled, wondering what was going on, what was happening. Wizeman watched from his throne, waiting until the last maren had made it in the door. And then he spoke.

"My faithful children, welcome."

There was a wave of movement along the crowd as they all bowed or kneeled, every sound suddenly cut off by their master's voice. He nodded, pleased.

"Listen carefully, for I have a great business to speak of, and you are all involved. All of you may serve me well through this new mission."

The room was as silent as an abandoned field at night, with not a single maren daring to even cough. They were to listen closely, he said, and so they did.

"All of you know of the Ideya," began Wizeman, his eyes gazing out over his vast leagues of Minions. "They are what you collect and bring to me, and they are our purest form of dream energy. You know them very well: Purity, Hope, Maturity, and Knowledge. Countless numbers of these Ideya have been brought to me. Yet none of you has ever brought me what I truly search for. A Courage Ideya."

His voice, thought it did not change in tone or pitch, conveyed his desire for what he spoke of. "These are rare beyond belief, and I am not surprised by their lack of number. And until now I have remained focused on the others, having you gather them without regard as to what their color is. Now that changes.

"I wish for two Courage Ideya to be brought to me. The nightmaren who finds one will be rewarded with untold wealth and a high place in the kingdom that is to be."

He smiled down upon his creations. "For that is why these two Ideya are so important to me. With these two Courage Ideya, I may make a bridge to the living world---and rule there as King."

The silence did not change. 

But outside the winds did.

Nights stood frozen, not noticing the mass exodus streaming around him. He was still trying to grasp ahold of what Wizeman had said.

_'We're taking over the Waking World.'_

Numbly he turned and left, pacing through the crowd on a direct course to his room. He needed to think. Part of him was proud; his master would soon rule all, and be glorified everywhere. He would be part of a great and glorious campaign, serving his master to the best of is ability. After all, that was what he was there for. And it would be fun.

The other part of Nights didn't know what to think. All it could focus on was one lone thought that stood out in front of all the other babbling and confusion, one that he soon dismissed as inconsequential.

_'Why?'_

Reala exited quickly, mind awhirl with ideas and ponderings. His hand was grasped tightly about his sword hilt, an indication of his tense mood.

His dream last night faded in importance, and all he could think about was the huge mission ahead. They would be combing every inch of the dream ground until they found what was needed to satisfy their master, and then helping him take over a world. It was going to be quite a job. Planning, leading, strategizing, fighting; as leader of the nightmaren forces, he had a lot that would have to be done.

He shivered slightly from the sheer adrenalin rushing through him. What a wonderful, glorious journey this was going to be.

Jackle was excited, his mind chattering away with possibilities and thoughts. Taking over the Waking World---what an adventure. Seeing new places, fighting new foes, facing new challenges, doing new things. He could hardly wait. 

For an instant, he heard an answer moan through his head; then it was gone.

_'Neither can we.'_

And there were a few strange stars in the sky, showing a glimmer of something never seen.


End file.
